Reject Yourself
by Dance Elle Dance
Summary: There's just something about him, Taylor feels, that is...important. LeslieTaylor, oneshot


_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon._

_**Summary: There's just something about him, Taylor feels, that is…important. LeslieTaylor, oneshot**_

_Here is my second attempt at this fandom! I just think that this movie is so great and it is so much fun to write for. This fic could be seen as a companion to my other one, but it can be read separately, of course. I'm not sure what else to say except I would love to hear your opinions! Please enjoy!_

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><p><strong>Reject Yourself<strong>

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><p>Taylor found herself shocked at how <em>attractive<em> Leslie Vernon was.

She wasn't expecting someone so handsome, with such lovely dark hair and bright, dark eyes. Someone with a slightly muscular build and a downright cheery disposition. She wasn't expecting anyone like him. Pictures of Michael Myers and Jason Voorhees dance through her mind. Those were the prototypes of the person she was expecting, but not this laughing, cheery, dancing fool.

As she stared at him, she couldn't believe that he could ever actually take a life. He had planned everything out to the T, though. Worked through all the details and taken every single thing into account. Stalked the appropriate girl, watched her at work, killed her elder over at the library as they look through microfiche.

When she got the call from the man himself, she wasn't expecting someone quite like him. Sure, his voice was rather happy over the phone, and he sounded pretty young, but to expect him to be that mind-blowingly attractive? Not at all what she was expecting.

Not only that, but he had a _good _personality.

Well, good for a would-be murderer, but she digressed.

He had so much hope, for someone so dead-set (no pun intended) on killing. For wanting to be among the greats and famous for it.

She thought she might just be…attracted to it. To him. Which made her question pretty much everything about herself.

He would say her name and she found herself becoming a ball of mush.

He would stroke her arm so, _so _gently, and she couldn't help but lean into his touch.

And when he got so angry that he pressed her up against their van, she couldn't help but feel _excited_ as well as terrified.

At that point, Taylor was pretty sure that there was something wrong with her.

She was absolutely, completely enamored with him.

Seeing the project through should have been a harder decision, after everything happened, but she found that it was quite easy to say those words to him, to let him know that they would be there with him during the entire thing.

But then the actual killing started.

She hadn't the stomach to just stand by and watch - the urge to thwart him was too strong.

And she tried. _Oh, _she did. After everyone was killed and she thought she was the only one left, she _tried _to stop him. She tried to end his life herself. She had to, even though something deep in her chest was telling her to stop.

Taylor thought she succeeded.

But when the reports came in - of him escaping the autopsy table and murdering everyone on his way out - she knew that she had failed.

She had _failed_.

But that wasn't the thing that shocked her the most.

Certainly, she had known she could fail in killing him. He was too smart, too well-prepared to be taken out so easily. He had studied, trained, dedicated himself to being the best in his field. Of course, there was nothing supernatural about him, but he still had the advantage over anyone else who tried.

So, now, while watching the news report on television, the wicked inkling in her chest appears. She _needs _to stop him.

Despite all of the conflicting feelings she has about it, she needs to put his reign of terror to an end, before he racks up a body count like Michael and Jason and all of those guys. She has to stop him. _Has _to.

She sits on her couch in the den, pondering things over, her knees curled up to her chest and her hands playing with the frayed ends of her pajama bottoms. She watches the reporter relay all of the information of the night. Taylor expects the reporters on her doorstep by dawn.

She feels that she has to stop him. That feeling is the only concrete thing that she can make out. It flutters around in her chest like an unsure bird, one that thinks it is safe but is about to be killed.

There is another feeling, though. And this one is more than confusing.

_Want._

She wants him. Wants to see him, wants to be near him, wants to feel his touch on her skin again, wants to hear him say her name. Wants to feel him press up against her.

She _wants _and hates how big of a contradiction that is.

Taylor sighs to herself and continues watching the television, seeing how the cops are handling Leslie Vernon's great escape. She leaves the television on all night - they wouldn't dare to break away from the coverage for even a second, and she finds that she wants to absorb it all.

They keep showing his picture, and each and every time his face comes up - dark hair and even darker eyes - she feels her heart thud.

Somehow, through the fog of everything that's happened, she feels that being a Survivor Girl is about more than she ever realized.

And she might just like that.

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><p><em><strong>End.<strong>_


End file.
